


A warm glow in the cold rain

by Tovarich



Series: Good Omens Celebration 2020 [28]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Fluff, Food, Good Omens Celebration 2020, Light Angst, M/M, Sick Crowley (Good Omens), Sickfic, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26822794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tovarich/pseuds/Tovarich
Summary: Aziraphale takes care of Crowley while the demon is sick. Najma helps by bringing them some food.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Celebration 2020 [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727137
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48
Collections: Good Omens Celebration





	A warm glow in the cold rain

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for day 28 of the Good Omens Celebration was tradition. It's a tradition in Morocco to bring food to someone who's sick. I projected too much of me on Najma in this, but well... I hope you'll like it. Tell me if you see any mistakes!  
> P.S : I apologise to everyone who likes brussels sprouts

It was raining outside, again, but inside the café the atmosphere was warm and welcoming. It wasn't a busy day; it was the middle of the week after all. And with that weather, most people went straight home after work. Najma's face lit up when the door opened on a familiar face.

"Mr Fell!" She greeted, the downpour outside having not at all dampened her usual enthusiasm, "it's been a whole week, how have you been doing?"

However, her smile was quickly replaced by a concerned frown when she got to take a better look at the newcomer. Dark circles below puffy eyes that lacked their customary sparkle, framed by wrinkles that had most definitely not been there the last time she saw him, told her everything she needed to know about how well Mr Fell was currently doing. In all the years he had frequented this establishment, she had never seen him so tired and dishevelled. Even when it looked like he was going through a lot and dearly needed a break from the whirlwind of life, he had always looked like a man who took good care of himself. His cloths had never had a single wrinkle, his hair had always been neatly trimmed, his nails manicured perfectly, and he had never looked so exhausted. With each additional second of silence, the weight that had started to build on her chest became heavier. She was fearing the worst. Then, it came to her mind that she hadn't seen Mr Crowley for about a week either. The red-haired man rarely stepped into the café (and never without Mr Fell), but she often saw him walking outside or driving in his vintage Bentley. She was getting worried, and Mr Fell still said nothing, eyes downcast as if meeting another person's eyes might shatter him.

"Come sit down," she said in the gentlest tone she could muster. She led him to a free table in the far corner of the room. It was secluded and would offer her favourite customer some privacy that was certainly much needed. She quickly walked to the counter, waving at a young man in the backroom. "Tom, I'm taking a break. I'll make it up to you, promise," She said with a slight smile. She prepared two hot cocoas and picked two muffins and a croissant before walking back to where Mr Fell was seated.

Mr Fell looked up when she sat down in front of him, pushing one of the cups and a plate in front of him. He offered a strained smile that lacked its usual brightness. It was as if the heavy rain had washed away the warm glow that surrounded him and replaced it with a dark shadow. She was almost physically pained to see him like this. Najma only hoped she would be able to do something to lift some of the thick clouds that weighed on his shoulders. Mr Fell took a tentative bite of the muffin, letting out a sigh that was only a pale imitation of the pleased moan that normally accompanied every mouthful he swallowed. It did seem to bring him some comfort, though. It would have to be enough for now, Najma thought. After taking a sip from his mug, Mr Fell pointedly looked down at the table, picking at his nails as he considered his next words.

"Crowley has been sick for a few days. It often happens when the weather start turning cold and damp, but it hasn't been that bad in years. I keep telling myself he'll get better eventually, but-" his voice broke, and he took a deep inspiration that was cut by an aborted sob. "For the first time, I find myself doubting it."

Oh, Najma thought, so that was why she hadn't seen either of them in a whole week. She had imagined something like that, but her expecting it did nothing to alleviate the concern that settled heavily on her chest. She knew it was irrational, but somehow, she couldn't imagine a world where Mr Fell didn't visit the café, or the bakery or a small restaurant and happily enjoyed their food. A world where Mr Crowley didn't drive through the busy streets of the city at an insane speed. A world where the both of them didn't walk hand in hand with a smile on their lips. That sounded like a terribly dull and empty world to her and she didn't want to even think about it.

Najma gently rested her hand on Mr Fell's. "With you taking care of him, I'm sure Mr Crowley will be back on his feet in no time." And despite everything, she found that she actually believed it.

* * *

Aziraphale was sitting on the couch in the backroom of the bookshop, attempting to distract himself with a book. Crowley was lying with his head on Aziraphale's tight, breathing heavily through his congested nose. With his free hand, Aziraphale brushed a few strands of hair out of Crowley's damp forehead. The fever was still present, but not as high as it had been in the first days. Surely, this had to be a good thing, a sign that the demon was slowly getting better. It still broke his heart to see his beloved in such a state. Weak and tired, his mischievous grin replaced by a scowl, the fire blazing in his yellow eyes covered by a thick layer of exhaustion. Crowley sighed when Aziraphale's blunt nails scratched his scalp, so Aziraphale did it again. It was almost 1pm, he should probably get something to eat. Crowley wouldn't be happy at being woken up, but he had to get something in his stomach. Aziraphale had to make sure his demon stayed hydrated enough, too. It could wait a few minutes. Aziraphale didn't want to get up now that Crowley's face finally relaxed in a peaceful expression.

There was a knock on the front door. Aziraphale ignored it. The bookshop was closed, were those humans incapable to read? He didn't want to deal with customers, especially not now that Crowley needed all his attention. Whatever this human was here for, it could wait. The knock sounded again, more insistent this time, making Aziraphale grumble in his frustration. But then, he heard a voice calling him through the door. Ah well, maybe this human wouldn't be too annoying to deal with. With a grunt, he got up, carefully replacing his thigh with a cushion under Crowley's head. He smiled softly when Crowley's eyes stayed closed through the whole process.

When he opened the door, he was met with Najma's warm smile as she greeted him. "Hello Mr Fell. I hope I'm not bothering you. I just wanted to bring you this," she said as she handed him a bag in which were several food containers.

Aziraphale's gaze travelled from Najma to the bag and back, eyes growing wide as he processed her words. "Oh, thank you dear girl. But really you didn't have to." He wasn't sure how to react. Never had a human cared enough about him and Crowley to show such disinterested kindness. It was a new feeling for Aziraphale, one that made a soft warmth spread through his chest. He noticed too late that tears had been gathering in his eyes, only realising it when Najma's hand squeezed his arm.

"It's nothing, really," she reassured him. "In my country it's a tradition to bring food to someone when they're sick. And well, I thought you might not be in the mood to cook something for you and Mr Crowley, so I brought this in the hope it might help the both of you." She looked up at his face and noticed he was still staring at her with something that looked like disbelief. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest when she realised that it was probably because he wasn't used to receive this kind of attention. "I- Uh- I made soup, it's a recipe from Morocco. Made out of lentils. And I also brought you a bit of sellou I had prepared during Ramadan. It's sweet and sort of powdery. It has high nutritional and caloric values, so I thought it might be good for someone who needs energy to fight an illness. And uh I brought some Moroccan biscuits too, I made them with my mum. I hope you like it." She knew she was rambling, but she wasn't used to this either. Usually when she did something nice, people just thanked them and that was the end of it, but it seemed to be a big deal for Mr Fell and she had no idea how to react to that.

She was pulled in a hug, Mr Fell telling her it was awfully kind of her and that he was sure everything would be delicious, and that Mr Crowley would surely finally eat something thanks to her. It was a bit overwhelming, but the man had clearly been under a lot of pressure lately and obviously wasn't used to being cared for.

"Don't worry, just go back inside. Your husband must be waiting for you," she said when she was released from the embrace. She wasn't actually certain Mr Fell and Mr Crowley were married, but the term felt right and Mr Fell didn't protest, so he probably was fine with it too. 

* * *

Crowley grumbled when he heard his name being whispered in his ear while his shoulder was gently shaken. He buried his face under the blanket, whining when cold air brushed his bare feet. He had felt good, enveloped in the arms of sleep, free from the ache in his bones and the itching in his throat. Why did he always have to wake up? He would be fine to remain in the bliss of unconsciousness for hundreds of years. His spirit floating in the endless darkness of a world where worries and suffering had no place. But no, he wasn't so lucky. There always came a time when his eyes opened, and the harsh light of the sun burned his sensitive pupils. Crowley sighed and resigned to lift the soft blanket off his face, keeping his eyes closed while he blindly looked for his sunglasses. He sat up and stretched his arms over his head, making his joints pop.

"Hello, dear," Aziraphale greeted him, his smile almost as bright as the sun, "Najma brought us some soup. I think it would be good for you to eat something. And it's been an awfully long time since you last drank anything either."

Crowley rolled his eyes. Really, his angel was adorable when he was fussing over him. This was, however, completely unnecessary. He was a demon, he didn't technically need to eat or drink, just like he didn't need oxygen or sleep. Then again, his body seemed to have appreciated the rest. He didn't feel as weak as he had a few days before, his head didn't feel as fuzzy as it had before he fell asleep. Maybe food would help too. It was worth a try. He accepted the glass of water that was handed to him and downed it in three large gulps. Okay, maybe his body had needed that. It was weird, though. But Aziraphale smiled at him, and Crowley knew he would drink a thousand glasses of water if it earned him one of those smiles.

"That's very good," Aziraphale said as he took the empty glass from Crowley's hand before bending to press his lips to Crowley's forehead.

Crowley tried to swallow the embarrassing noise that built in the back of his throat. He was a demon, mean and dangerous and older than time itself, not a toddler in need of affection. Aziraphale kissed Crowley's pouting lips, chuckling as he walked away to take the two bowls of soup waiting by the sink. They were still steaming, thanks to a frivolous miracle. Crowley needed something hot to sooth the pain in his limbs and lull him to sleep.

Crowley accepted the bowl but eyed it warily, waiting for Aziraphale to taste it first. The angel took a small spoonful of the lentils and brought it to his mouth, closing his eyes and moaning as he swallowed.

"Mmmh, this is scrumptious. I think I tasted some ginger and perhaps a bit of cinnamon too," his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he brought another spoonful to his lips. "Yes, definitely some cinnamon! But it's barely noticeable. Oh, I think you would quite like it, Crowley, you really should have a taste!"

Well, if Aziraphale was that enthusiastic, it had to mean the soup was worth eating. Crowley dipped his spoon in the bowl, sniffing it before he brought it to his lips, taking a tentative taste. Even he had to admit it wasn't too bad. The acidity of lemon juice adding some lightness to the mix. "Yeah, s'not bad. Far better than those Brussels sprouts you had me tasting in the late sixties. Those were truly evil," he said with a disgusted grimace. For Crowley, food was essentially divided in two categories: 'not bad' and 'disgusting'. Most foods that weren't Brussels sprouts fell into the first category, although he had a very limited experience in this area.

Aziraphale huffed, raising his eyebrows in a haughty expression that looked slightly ridiculous on his face. "It's not my fault if you can't appreciate the special taste of Brussels sprouts."

They stared at each other for a few seconds, eyebrows raised and lips sealed in a determined line before the both dissolved in laughter, ending up gasping for breath.

"Eat your soup before it gets cold, dearest," Aziraphale said once he recovered, eyes still shining with mirth.

"You really expect me to eat all that?" Crowley said, eyeing the bowl in his hands with a dubious expression.

"It's alright if you can't eat all of it, but please eat as much as you can. You'll get a reward afterward."

Crowley looked at the bowl in his hand as if he was making a complicated strategy on how to eat it. He stirred the soup for a few seconds before bringing his spoon to his lips. He repeated the process for a few minutes, eating about half of the content. He had to admit it did taste good, Najma had outdone herself. He had no idea regular humans were capable of cooking so well; his only experience with food was accompanying Aziraphale to restaurants. Honestly, he would have liked to it more of it, but he wasn't a big eater in the best of times. His stomach felt slightly too full already, and Crowley knew that eating more would make him nauseous. He set the bowl down on the table, looking at the angel with an apologetic expression. He was expecting to be met with a disapproving stare, but instead he found Aziraphale beaming at him.

"That's very good, my dear," Aziraphale said, "You did exactly what I asked you."

Crowley sighed in relief. Aziraphale was always so soft and kind with him, even when Crowley thought he didn't deserve it. It was hard to pretend the praise didn't make his heart melt every time. But he had a reputation to maintain. Not now, though. He was sick and needed the comfort and reassurance and for once he had a good excuse to accept it.

"Does that mean I can have my reward?" Crowley asked, eyes wide with hope and curiosity. He didn't need to know what the reward in question would be, he trusted Aziraphale enough to know the angel would surprise him with something he would enjoy.

Aziraphale smiled. "Yes, dearest, you have deserved it." He got up to put the bowls in the sink. He would miracle them clean later, but it wasn't his priority for now. He gathered Crowley in his arms, carrying him up the stairs, which cause the demon to produce a ridiculous sound made entirely of consonants from the back of his throat. Crowley was utterly ridiculous, it almost made Aziraphale's heart ache with how full of love it was. "I was thinking," he said as he deposited Crowley on their bed, "it's been an awfully long time since we last took a bath together, hasn't it dear?"

Crowley perked up at the mention of a bath, the simple idea of lying in a tub of hot water with Aziraphale's arms around him felt wonderful. "It's been too long," he said, leaning into Aziraphale's touch on his cheek. "Do you think you could brush my hair too?" His hair had been too short for that lately, but in the last few month he had been growing it and now it reached his shoulders. He missed the gentle touch of Aziraphale's fingers as they ran through his red strands.

"Of course, love, it would be a pleasure. You know how much I love your hair."

And Crowley did know, although he didn't quite understand it. It wasn't that he didn't think his hair was nice, he liked it alright. But to him it was just hair. When it was short it was easier to tame it, style it the way he wanted. But when the world didn't end and they got to really be together, Aziraphale confessed that he missed Crowley's long hair. And while Crowley had always thought his long hair was mostly a mess of wild curls, he could never say no to Aziraphale.

A snap of Aziraphale's fingers and they were both naked. With an elegant gesture of the angel's hand, the bath was ready. He carried Crowley to the adjacent bathroom, but just before they climbed in the tub, he poured a few drops of lavender, chamomile and cedarwood scented bath oil. He had read that it was a good combination for a relaxing bath, and that was exactly what he was aiming for.

Aziraphale got in first, helping Crowley afterward. They sat in the warm water, Crowley's back pressed to Aziraphale's chest while the angel's arms were wrapped around his waist. Crowley closed his eyes when Aziraphale's soft hands started running up and down his sides. The soothing scent of the bath oil was almost making him sleepy. This had been exactly what he had needed, even though he hadn't known it before Aziraphale suggested it. He sighed contentedly. He was so incredibly lucky to have an angel who was willing to take care of him and knew him so well. Crowley rested his head on Aziraphale's shoulder with his forehead against the angel's neck. He felt safe and loved like this. If he could, he would spend his entire immortal existence exactly like this.

Crowley felt lips on his hair and he smiled, nuzzling into Aziraphale's neck. He had no idea how much time had passed. The water was still pleasantly warm, but this could only be due to a miracle, so it was hard to tell. Crowley wasn't entirely sure if he had fallen asleep at some point or if he simply felt so at ease that his mind had gone blank for a moment. Either way, it felt perfect, and Crowley wasn't sure when he had last felt so peaceful.

"Can you sit up for a bit, my dear? I'd love to wash your hair if you'd like. It's okay if you don't want to, we can just stay like this."

Aziraphale's voice was low, like he was murmuring his request in Crowley's ear. And having his hair washed and combed by his angel did sound nice. Although, having to sit a bit more straight certainly was a drawback; he was so very comfortable against Aziraphale's plump body. He pondered it a few seconds – or was it closer to a minute? Time felt funny at the moment. But Aziraphale didn't seem to mind the wait. Finally, Crowley grabbed the edge of the bathtub and used it to sit properly.

"Wonderful, thank you, my lovely serpent."

There was the praise again, making Crowley warm in the chest. Illness was making him soft. Or maybe it was being in close proximity to an angel who was the embodiment of softness. Either way, that was totally undemonic. Crowley found that he didn't actually care. They were still technically an angel and a demon, but that didn't matter much anymore. They were something else, now, something unique. The tyrannical rules of Heaven and Hell didn't really apply to them anymore, anyway. It was scary, and in normal circumstances, Crowley would surely feel anxious at having such thoughts. But at that exact instant, it felt just right. It felt right to think that they weren't an angel and a demon, they were just Aziraphale and Crowley.

"Keep your eyes closed for me, please," Aziraphale said, cutting through Crowley's wandering thoughts.

Crowley felt water being poured on the top of his hair. And then, Aziraphale's hands were on his hair, lathering it with soap that smelled of lemon and verbena. His fingers drew slow circles on his head, sometimes, Aziraphale's blunt nails scraped at his scalp. And Crowley started purring. He should have been embarrassed when Aziraphale chuckled, saying, "you act surprisingly like a cat sometimes for someone who's also a snake."

But there was so much fondness in the statement that Crowley could only muster a half hearted "shut up." Absolutely undemonic. But when has he ever been anything but soft when it came to Aziraphale?

Aziraphale started running a comb down Crowley's hair, his thick fingers trailing after it. Humans got it all wrong. They didn't want to go to Heaven. Not the real Heaven at least. Not the one that was cold and rigid and made of endless white walls and lifeless corridors. They imagined something like this; being surrounded by love and warmth, feeling so happy your heart was ready to burst. Feeling so safe and relaxed you could just close your eyes and let go. Fall asleep, or stay awake without any worry clouding your mind. No weight, your soul light as a feather. Just floating in a place where time didn't exist and space didn't make sense. As far as Crowley was concerned, what he had right then, in this bathtub, was heaven. This was how he wanted to live for eternity.

He was distantly aware that Aziraphale must be braiding his hair. The angel was humming a familiar tune, but Crowley's mind felt too hazy to pinpoint what it was exactly. He was looking forward to seeing what his hair would look like when the angel was done. Aziraphale always did wonders with his hair.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because when he opened his eyes again, he was laying in bed. Aziraphale had dressed him with his favourite black silk pyjama. Crowley raised a hand to his hair and smiled when he felt the two braids Aziraphale had made.

"They'll still be there in the morning. I'll make sure of it. Just go back to sleep, dear," Aziraphale said from where he was reading beside Crowley.

Crowley smiled and got closer to feel Aziraphale's warmth seep through the fabric of their clothes. "Thank you, angel," Crowley mumbled, already half asleep.


End file.
